


tomorrow doesn't matter

by shardmind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "excuse me ma'am can we all just be happy?" i whisper to myself as i write this, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shardmind/pseuds/shardmind
Summary: A picture frame above the fireplace catches his eye on the way past; it’s plain really, solid silver—Gabe had picked it out for them as a moving in present—but the photo inside is his favourite.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	tomorrow doesn't matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilyasomina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyasomina/gifts).



> an early birthday present for ari because she just deserves good things ok. also, because i don't know how to not be extra, you're probably gonna get a few more of these. i hope this captures what you had in mind when you said you wanted 'that pic of the cat that says "GIB ME A KISS". that vibe but with destiel'
> 
> also, a just note, i took canon outside and shot it.

It doesn’t occur to Dean how late it is until he walks through his front door and isn’t greeted by the obnoxious clatterings of someone who isn’t quite sure on how to use a stand mixer yet trying to make chocolate chip cookies, or the musings of someone discovering broken melodies on the upright piano he’d bought on impulse at an auction last summer, or the wailings of a war movie turned up to eleven with the sole intention of being immersed in the cacophony of sound, or a warm hug from the person he loves who—even though they’ve been living together for the best part of a year—still smells like the air after a storm and sometimes of burnt sugar.

The clock on the oven blink 00:37, its digital display illuminating the kitchen with its faint glow. He’d lost track of time at the shop, pouring over memories with Sam from under the hood of a ‘76 AMC Gremlin as he flicked through pictures of the kids, of the new house, of Gabe. It’s nice just to talk. Trying to juggle work, a relationship and a new family is taking its toll on him, the bags under his eyes are dark and deep but he’s happy, truly, smiling like he really means it. All teeth and crows feet and love. Dean couldn’t have wished for anything more for him really. Isn’t that what everyone wants in the end? To be happy? 

By the time Dean has toed off his boots, hung up his jacket and dropped the keys to Baby in the dish Jody had given him when she’d taken up pottery classes last summer, the clock reads 00:41 and sleep begins to creep up on him. Time for bed.

A picture frame above the fireplace catches his eye on the way past; it’s plain really, solid silver—Gabe had picked it out for them as a moving in present—but the photo inside is his favourite. They’d been visiting Bobby at the time, the Christmas before last, when things were still new, and Jo had gone around with her camera, capturing snapshots of everyone in their happy place while Ellen carved the turkey. Sam had dragged Gabe along too, showing him the thick tomes he’d poured over as a child, finding little doodles in the margins of fantastical monsters and heroes. Within the frame, Dean is wearing the brightest smile, caught halfway to a laugh, holding up his glass of whatever it was Bobby had passed around to toast with and next to him, eyes squeezed shut with his lips pressed to Dean’s cheek in an immortalised kiss, is Castiel. 

His Castiel. 

Dean had kissed him back properly later.

The floorboards creak as he ascends the stairs one socked foot at a time, as the memory flits away, chased out by the call of his warm, comfortable bed, only two doors away. The door protests as he opens it slowly and behind it, across on the king-size, he sees a rather inviting pile of blankets. He strips down to his briefs, too tired brush his teeth or throw his jeans in the laundry (he’ll regret it in the morning but right now he’s got bigger things to worry about), and pulls back the cover to reveal the softly sleeping form of his boyfriend. 

Cas grunts at the sudden intrusion of cold air. He tried to roll himself away but instead becomes tangled further in the blankets, unable to twist his way back into their warm embrace, dark hair mussed at every angle. He’s gone to bed without his pyjamas again, not that Dean minds. The tattoo across his stomach stands out in stark contrast to his skin. He remembers first discovering them there. “ _A long-dead language._ ” Cas had said, breathless from all the… attention. He’s beautiful; always has been, always will be. 

“Permission to come aboard?” Dean yawns, already slipping beneath what covers he can get at. His toes stroke down the back of Cas’s calves as he settles in, tangling together. He’s warm, a radiator, and Cas groans when Dean wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Boarding fee is quite expensive,” He grumbles, turning around to rest his face against Dean’s chest, shrugging the blankets up over them both. “One kiss.”

“I don’t know,” Dean hums, pulling him in closer, sharing the warmth. “That’s a bit pricey, don’t you think?”

Cas frowns at him, looking up through his eyelashes and when the moonlight catches his eyes they shine like stars. In his thirty-six years, Dean’s never found anyone that makes him feel even remotely close to the way Castiel does. There’s something about him; he’s never been able to quite put his finger on what it is but everything about him is… right. When they fit together, hands clasped, breath in sync, Dean’s never been so close to perfect.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t kiss me right now—”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. They meet in the middle, a soft gentle press tasting of the spearmint toothpaste. Cas's arms wrap around his chest, manoeuvring himself upwards to meet his kiss more fiercely. With a swipe of his tongue, Cas has him melting into it. Each nip of teeth, playful breath, soft laugh.

Dean lets himself fall apart. 

With Castiel in his arms and a smile on his lips, lethargy comes for them both. 

Dean’s thoughts drift, tugging on the edge of lucidity and sleep; ruminating on the past—the time they first met. Cas had caught him entirely off guard. His car, a Lincoln Continental which at the time seemed way too ostentatious for the trench-coated man that drove it, had come into some trouble and Benny had handed over the paperwork to Dean with a knowing look. Things just sort of… happened. Dean remembers that damn coat, how it always made him look slightly out of place. His smile, shy and reserved at first and then bright and open and just plain glorious, has been chasing him ever since. 

Love took him by surprise.

Before sleep claims them, Cas sighs, content. “No refunds.”

**Author's Note:**

> destiel rights? destiel rights.


End file.
